I'm reading and I'm getting wet. That's what happens when I love a book. Andy asks what I'm reading. He probably smells that I like it. He's probably hoping I'll get so excited I'll put the book down and fuck him. It's happened before. That's the only shortcoming of books-they're asexual.

I show him the spine. "Why do you like reading her so much?" he asks. "She always tells stories about weak women." He tells me I need strong female role models-that if I were really a feminist, I'd know what I want to do with my life.

I flip to the back cover and look at the author's photo. Andy thinks he knows everything. He says he hates men for being closed minded about women.

I try to imagine being the strong, completely unneedy, financially huge woman that Andy wishes he could be with.

If I were that woman, I can tell you one thing, I wouldn't be living with Andy.